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User blog:SkyrimsShillelagh/The Eighth Trial (Blog: Part 3)
Fourth Trial: A stranger's voice unites the Houses. Three Halls call him Hortator. Indeed, once Dagoth Ur emerged from the Mountain and cut down the Tribunal, none dared challenge him. He didn’t even need to ask the Houses to swear fealty to him. And when he supplanted the Dunmer of the Houses with Imperials, no one protested. Fifth Trial: A stranger's hand unites the Velothi. Four Tribes call him Nerevarine. The Velothi stood proud against Dagoth Ur. For it, he slaughtered them with a wave of his hand. I suppose who or what they call Nerevarine no longer matters Sixth Trial: He honors blood of the tribe unmourned. He eats their sin, and is reborn. Dagoth Ur has certainly faced down Corprus- he created it. He controls it like a fifth limb. And he was reborn into an Ash Vampire. The prophecy has many interpretations. Seventh Trial: His mercy frees the cursed false gods, binds the broken, and redeems the mad. And of course, Dagoth Ur defeated the Tribunal. All three of them he slew. Perhaps, in a twisted sense, it was a mercy. For the Tribunal had over stepped their bounds, one too many times. One Destiny: He speaks the law for Veloth's people. He speaks for their land, and names them great. Dagoth Ur spoke for the Dunmer, and he now speaks for all of Tamriel. Could no one else fulfill the roll any greater? Sotha plantation, in the morning… Sagg lay awake in the early hours of morning. It seemed that the older he became, the more difficult it was for him to sleep. This was particularly true when he was troubled about something, such as the traveler’s failure to return to the barrack. Sagg hoped that Alecos had come to his senses and decided to move on. However, that prospect seemed unlikely—Sagg had seen the fire in Alecos’s eyes. It seemed such a shame that a man who had survived the Pits would instead find death here, on a random plantation, trying to protect a girl everyone else had given up for dead. How would Lord Sotha react? He was said to be particularly harsh with anyone who interrupted his night-time enjoyments. If Alecos had managed to disturb the master’s pleasures, Sotha might easily decide to punish the rest of his serfs by association. Eventually, the other serfs began to awake. Sagg lay on the hard earth—bones aching, back complaining, muscles exhausted—trying to decide if it was worth rising. Each day, he nearly gave up. Each day, it was a little harder. One day, he would just stay in the barrack, waiting until the overseers came to kill those who were too sick or too elderly to work. But not today. He could see too much fear in the eyes of the serfs—they knew that Alecos’s night-time activities would bring trouble. They needed Sagg; they looked to him. He needed to get up. And so, he did. Once he started moving, the pains of age decreased slightly, and he was able to shuffle out of the barrack toward the fields, leaning on a younger man for support. It was then that he caught a scent in the air. “What’s that?” he asked. “Do you smell smoke?” “I always smell smoke, lately,” The young man said. “Red Mountain is violent this year.” “No,” Sagg said, feeling increasingly apprehensive. “This is different.” He turned to the north, toward where a group of serfs were gathering. He let go of Shum, shuffling toward the group, feet kicking up dust and ash as he moved. At the center of the group of people, he found Regierith. Her daughter, the one they all assumed had been taken by Lord Sotha, stood beside her. The young girl’s eyes were red from lack of sleep, but she appeared unharmed. “She came back not long after they took her,” the woman was explaining. “She came and pounded on the door, crying in the mist. Flen was sure it was just an Ash Spawn impersonating her, but I had to let her in! I don’t care what he says, I’m not giving her up. I brought her out in the sunlight, and she didn’t disappear. That proves she’s not an Ash Spawn!” Sagg stumbled back from the growing crowd. Did none of them see it? No overseers came to break up the group. No soldiers came to make the morning population counts. Something was very wrong. Sagg continued to the north, moving frantically toward the manor house. By the time he arrived, others had noticed the twisting line of smoke that was just barely visible in the morning light. Sagg wasn’t the first to arrive at the edge of the short hill-top plateau, but the group made way for him when he did. The manor house was gone. Only a blackened, smoldering scar remained. “By Dagoth Ur!” Sagg whispered. “What happened here?” “He killed them all.” Sagg turned. The speaker was Regierith’s girl. She stood, looking down at the fallen house, a satisfied expression on her youthful face. “They were dead when he brought me out,” she said. “All of them—the soldiers, the overseers, the lords... dead. Even Lord Sotha and his Ordinators. The master had left me, going to investigate when the noises began. On the way out, I saw him lying in his own blood, stab-wounds in his chest. The man who saved me threw a torch in the building as we left.” “This man,” Sagg said. “He had burns on his hands and arms, reaching past the elbows?” The girl nodded silently. “What kind of demon was that man?” one of the serfs muttered uncomfortably. “Ash Spawn,” another whispered, apparently forgetting that Alecos had gone out during the day. But, he did go out into the mist, Sagg thought. And, how did he accomplish a feat like this . . . ? Lord Sotha kept over two dozen soldiers! Did Alecos have a hidden band of rebels, perhaps? Alecos’s words from the night before sounded in his ears. New days are coming. . . . “But, what of us?” Gemin asked, terrified. “What will happen when Dagoth Ur hears this? He’ll think that we did it! He’ll send us to the Fissions, or maybe just send his ogres to slaughter us outright! Why would that troublemaker do something like this? Doesn’t he understand the damage he’s done?” “He understands,” Sagg said. “He warned us, Gemin. He came to stir up trouble.” “But, why?” “Because he knew we’d never rebel on our own, so he gave us no choice.” Gemin paled. Dagoth Ur, Sagg thought. I can’t do this. I can barely get up in the mornings—I can’t save this people. But what other choice was there? Sagg turned. “Gather the people, Gemin. We must flee before word of this disaster reaches Dagoth Ur.” “Where will we go?” “The ashlands to the east,” Sagg said. “Travelers say there are rebel serfs hiding in them. Perhaps they’ll take us in.” Gemin paled further. “But . . . we’d have to travel for days. Spend nights'' in the mist''.” “We can do that,” Sagg said, “or we can stay here and die.” Gemin stood frozen for a moment, and Sagg thought the shock of it all might have overwhelmed him. Eventually, however, the younger man scurried off to gather the others, as commanded. Sagg sighed, looking up toward the trailing line of smoke, cursing the man Alecos quietly in his mind. New days indeed. Category:Blog posts Category:Stories Category:The Eighth Trial